by Nev March
Adi listened intently as I continued.
“I found no sign of Mrs. Enty in Ranjpoot. However, I had a hunch Kasim might lead me to her. So, dressed as a dockworker, I followed him to this ship—Vahid Cruiser. He visits it often, sometimes twice a day. And there I’ve stayed, observing it for days.”
“Captain, twelve days!” Adi protested.
“Ah, to hang about that long is no easy matter. One needs a strong-smelling reason to hold a spot like that, without answering questions from dockworkers, officials and the like.”
“So you were … dead drunk?” cried Adi, disgusted.
I grinned at his expression. “Oh, one can’t lie there, passed out, without attracting a Havildar. No. Begging—a drunk dockworker begging for alms.”
“Did this dockworker have a name?” Adi asked, shaking his head at my antics.
“Jeet Chaudhary. Before I went to Lahore I tried him out. Trouble was, a dockmaster wanted to hire me … loading and unloading ships. That didn’t suit, so I had Jeet pick a few quarrels. No one wants a troublesome fellow, hm?”
“No? You surprise me!” said Adi, innocent as a lamb.
I laughed, and emptied a bucket over myself to dispel the smell of fish and manure. Resoaping for good measure, I paid particular attention to my fingers—Mrs. Framji was fastidious about clean hands. My skin glowed pale when stripped of soot and sludge.
Tying a towel about myself, I took the lamp to the mirror and trimmed Jeet Chaudhary’s beard. Perhaps I would not need to impersonate my old friend again.
Adi asked, “What’s this have to do with Bacha?”
“Holmes says: ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ So the missing spectacles? The broken eyeglass chain? These tell us it was not suicide. Two motives occurred to me: revenge or profit. If the motive was a thirst for revenge, well, there are easier ways to kill a young lady—using poison, a riding accident?”
Adi nodded as I went on. “Not revenge, then. Profit? Who stands to gain? Your father pointed out that Lady Bacha’s inheritance was already yours by marriage. Her death cannot alter that. Next, I considered Miss Pilloo. Was she the intended target? Again I hit a wall. Her death causes a loss to your family and her husband, but appears to benefit no one. So who gains? That mode of inquiry—who stands to gain—leads nowhere. It’s the wrong question, because of these extraordinary circumstances. So I ask, who stands to gain if Lady Bacha does not, er, fall to her death … but remains on the tower gallery.”
Adi rubbed his forehead. “Captain, I don’t understand.”
Donning fresh trousers, shirt and vest, I said, “When I found Chutki, sir, she was bound. Her hands were tied before her, and she was hidden under a black garment, a burkha.”
“Chutki? The girl you brought from Lahore?”
“As I walked along the rail track, Chutki was, ah, offered for sale.”
Adi looked stricken. “That child!” he stammered. “That’s why you brought her with you.”
“I bought her, sir. No choice, really. Couldn’t leave her there.”
His eyes gleamed behind his round lenses. “My God.”
“The sight of her, hands lashed together, huddled under the burkha, it … haunted me. Now I know why. After the ladies died, the librarian found black clothing under a table. Could that be the source of those black threads caught in the tower door? The ladies were, well, prey, much as Chutki was.”
“But in broad daylight, Captain? In the middle of the university!” Adi choked.
Lacing up my army boots, I said, “Ah, these cads will stop at nothing to gain their ends. They told the ladies something to prevent them calling out. Perhaps they threatened to expose Miss Pilloo’s incriminating letter. Now Akbar’s ship, Vahid Cruiser, lists its manifest as a cargo of cattle. I followed its seamen to an alehouse each night. Sailors talk, you know, quite loud under the influence. They’re bound for British Guyana. But I’ve seen no cattle loaded.”
Adi hunched on the upturned crate, his face waxen.
“Adi, the cattle are women. The seamen mentioned men too, to be sold as slaves. I’ve alerted the Constabulary. Maneck has been grand these past weeks, watching Kasim’s house, running messages to and from McIntyre. The question is, when does Vahid Cruiser sail?”
In the army I’d learned to plan a military action. In Pathankot I’d had to lean upon my friends, Ranbir and Razak’s clan. Now I depended on McIntyre, who was determined to arrest the slavers. Astonished at all I’d uncovered, he’d agreed to follow my lead.
Adi said, “Let’s get back to the house. Uncle Byram can find out anything we need.”
Extracting the revolver from my discarded rags, I stowed it, fully loaded, in my breast pocket. “Now Chief McIntyre is not quite ready. He needs a Magistrate’s warrant to search the ship. I sent him a note yesterday and have been awaiting a reply. He’ll send a constable, since Maneck’s watching the house on Dockyard Road.”
Adi grunted. “So Maneck’s working for you now!”
A rap sounded, repeated, urgent on the wood, a hollow, ominous note. Adi and I jerked at the unexpected interruption. Gun in hand, I yanked open the door.
Ramu, the gap-toothed houseboy, tumbled into my room.
“Sahib, come quick,” he panted. “Your sister Chutki is missing.”
CHAPTER 51
I’VE BEEN A FOOL
Akbar! How had he got hold of little Chutki? Urging speed, we clambered into the carriage.
“Adi, I’ve been a fool!” I muttered as we strode into Framji Mansion. While I’d followed Akbar and Kasim around, their flunkies must have been watching Framji Mansion for any sign of weakness. They’d found it in my plucky girl.
Burjor and Diana were in the morning room. Face pale, she looked distraught.
“What happened?” I asked.
Burjor cleared his throat. “The child—Chutki. She went missing in the bazaar. I’ve sent word to McIntyre.”
“When did this happen?”
Diana stammered, “About six thirty? We wanted rolls for dinner.…”
Chutki had been abducted at sundown, over an hour ago. “Why was she alone?” Fear made my voice rough.
“She wasn’t alone!” Diana protested. “Jiji-bai was with her—left her at the baker’s for just a few minutes. When she got back, Chutki wasn’t there.”
“And then?”
Diana winced. “Jiji-bai was frantic. She asked everyone around. But no one knew.”
“Could Chutki have gone elsewhere?”
“Jiji-bai searched for half an hour. She heard the clock tower chime twice. Captain, Chutki wouldn’t go off by herself. She’s afraid of getting lost.”
Think. I forced a slow breath. To escape notice so completely, Chutki might have gone willingly with her captor. How had they gained her compliance? I let my mind follow Chutki from house to bazaar. “Right. Chutki was buying bread … nothing out of the ordinary there. What happens next? Someone calls to her.”
Eyes wide, Diana asked, “Someone she knows?”
I shook my head. “Don’t think so. If it was a known person, then one of ours is in their pay—they would have taken her before, or even you.”
“Go on, Jim. Someone calls to her, what then?”
I imagined a bustling bazaar—Chutki turns, eyes searching. “They tell her something that alarms her. Someone is ill? The baby, Baadal? You, perhaps? That gets her attention. She’s wanted at the house—a carriage is waiting, a victoria? She steps in and they’re away.”
Diana’s voice dropped into the silence. “Away where?”
I felt chilled. Akbar and Kasim had taken Mrs. Enty to gain a hold over her husband. Now someone had snatched little Chutki—because of me? Tendrils of panic closed my throat.
I addressed Burjor. “Sir, a gang of slavers is at work here. I’ve been following them for weeks, watching their ship. They could have got Chutki too.”
Diana gasped. Burjor dropped into a chai
r as though his legs could no longer hold him.
“Where would they take her?” asked Adi.
Giving Burjor a moment to absorb what had taken me days to discover, I answered Adi, “The ship, perhaps. Superintendent McIntyre was awaiting a warrant to board the Vahid Cruiser. If they’ve taken Chutki, he may not need one. McIntyre can move up our plan. Ask him to raid the ship tonight.”
Burjor rose to his feet. “I’ll get McIntyre. There’s a big do at the Wadias. We were invited, but I sent regrets. I’ll find him.” His chin jutted out, outrage and resolve in his shoulders. He’d barely noticed Chutki, but now that my little waif was missing, he was furious.
Glad to have him at my back, I said, “Thank you, sir. They may not wait until the dock opens at dawn. The ship will sail once they’re aboard.” Then I remembered. “But it’s the month of Ramadan. The dockyard closes at sundown for Mohammedans to break their fast.”
Adi asked, “If Akbar and Kasim can’t get to their ship, where would they go?”
“I followed Kasim to a house on Dockyard Road. It’s number twenty-one, by the streetlamp.” Was Chutki being held there? I should search it. “Adi, gather the house guards.”
He nodded, eyes dark in that pale, narrow face as he yanked the bell-pull by the door.
Burjor eyed me doubtfully. “What do you plan to do?”
“Haven’t quite decided, sir.”
“I’d tell you to wait for the police, Captain. But that poor child … Go. I’ll bring McIntyre to the ship.” Burjor clamped his lips together, gave me a nod and stomped through the door.
Adi eyed the revolver in my hand.
Laying it on the table, I asked, “Diana, have you more cartridges?”
When she’d gone, Adi said, “Captain, she can’t come.”
I agreed. Diana could not be part of this, nor Adi himself. I’d not risk my friends in this rescue. Smith, McIntyre and I had seen action. Maneck understood the risk, perhaps even needed to redeem himself. Our house guards were experienced Sepoys. I would risk no one else.
“Adi, I’ll take the housemen and search the place on Dockyard Road. The Constabulary can raid a ship when offered just cause. Chutki’s abduction gives him that. I just hope they don’t sail before he arrives.”
Adi cleared his throat. “Captain, the harbor master is a friend of ours. Perhaps he can stop the ship leaving. I’ll go to him.”
Hope flickered, sending painful thrusts into my chest. “That will do it. Trap them in the bay.”
“Right.” He clapped me on the shoulder and set off.
It would take a while for Adi to find the harbor master and persuade him. The Framjis had hired me to aid them, but now I depended upon them to find little Chutki. Brave Chutki, who had endured more in her fourteen years than should be asked of anyone. Would I get to her in time?
CHAPTER 52
SS VAHID CRUISER
The house on Dockyard Road loomed silent and dark. No light flickered in the windows. Where was Maneck? He was tasked to observe this address from a carriage across the street, yet I saw no sign of him.
With the Gurkhas at my heels, I prepared to demand access to Kasim’s house, to threaten violence, since I had no authority to enter it. Ear to the door, I listened, feeling only the weight of silence.
At my signal, Ganju hammered on the door. The sound echoed along the still street. No one answered. The house remained a tomb. Hadn’t they brought Chutki here after all?
Our horses snorted, clomping restlessly at the corner, where Ramu held their bridles. Here and there, people appeared in windows, peering out. A drizzle started, and lightning flared overhead, silent and menacing. I paused in an agony of indecision—if Chutki was aboard the ship, we’d waste precious time here. But were they hiding inside?
I motioned to Gurung. “Open it.”
The white of his teeth flashed. Thunder belched, as he shot out the lock. He flung open the door, and we crashed into a narrow hallway with doors on both sides.
I heard a thump to our right. Someone was here.
Gurung’s hand clamped on my shoulder. He’d heard it too. Slipping ahead, he peered into the chamber and made a startled sound. Someone asked, “What is it?”
Gurung turned up the gas lamp, flooding the small parlor with light. What looked like a pile of clothes was a man slumped by the settee, his arm bright red, unmistakable. Blood.
“Maneck!”
Why was he here? Damn and blast. I pressed fingers to his neck. Maneck groaned and blinked. Relieved, I tugged off my tie to bind his arm, then checked for other injuries. Finding only a bruise on his forehead, I sat back on my heels.
“It’s not mine—the blood,” he said, “not all of it anyway.” He tried to sit up and swayed.
Propping him against the settee, I said, “You were to watch the house, not enter! What happened?”
“They were here.” Maneck’s voice wobbled. “I saw them take a girl in, all bundled up. One more slave, right? So I snuck in through a window, tried to get her out the same way. But they found me. I fought…”
Chutki had been here! “You fought them?” I said. “Damn foolishness.” And incredibly courageous. Although no match for Ranjpoot’s guards, he’d put up a good show—dropped unconscious by a blow to his forehead, which now bulged an angry red. It had likely saved his life.
He coughed and groaned, clutching his side. My fingers tightened on his arm.
“Maneck, where did they go?”
“Sassoon Dock.”
Sweat dripped down my back, but a chill ran through me. Chutki could already be aboard the ship. I was too far behind. If Akbar sailed, I would lose her forever. Where the devil were McIntyre and his constables?
“You saw Akbar?” My voice sounded rough, unfamiliar.
“No, Saapir Behg—that snake! He’s to … meet Akbar at the ship.”
I left Gurung to care for Maneck and sent young Ramu off with a note to McIntyre. Returning to our horses, I stashed my revolver in a saddlebag. It would not do to lose it on this ride.
The brown mare huffed as I mounted and made for Sassoon Dock, fear pounding inside my chest. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Ganju and the others clattered behind me, our hooves beating a tattoo along grim cobbled streets. To the north, the clock tower loomed, its face a solitary light that peered down through the gloom.
What was that hullaballoo ahead? As I neared the docks, a mass of people blocked my way. Clad in colorful tunics, the procession followed a large statue of a goddess bedecked in red and gold. Hauling on the reins, I yanked the mare to one side, causing men and women to cry out and leap from my path. Cursing, I drew the mare through gaps in the crowd until she stood, heaving, on the other side. I’d lost track of the date—was it Durga Pooja? The Ganesh festival?
Across the pulsing river of bodies, Adi’s house guards pulled up, shouting, “Hoy!” Horses bumped each other. They’d have to wait until the procession crawled past. The wind picked up then, bringing a light drizzle. The monsoon was near—was it already July?
Leaving them, I urged the mare on to the deserted dockyard, only to find its iron gate closed fast with a thick metal chain. Blast.
When would McIntyre’s troops get here? Would they reach me before the ship sailed? Adi might find the harbor master, persuade him to close the waterway. Was that even possible at this late hour? Could it keep a steamship in the harbor? I rubbed the mare’s neck, her breath puffing like a bellows as she whickered at my indecision.
If Vahid Cruiser sailed, so went the abducted women, proof of the crime against Lady Bacha and Miss Pilloo. More than likely, Chutki was already aboard. Little Chutki who walked on torn feet, leaving bloody footprints to glisten in the moonlight.
I could not wait for McIntyre. SS Vahid Cruiser must not leave this dock. Some idea of sabotaging the ship’s engine ran through my mind, although barricading the engine room would do just as well.
How many men were aboard? I did not know. General Greer would have snarled
at me, “All day you watched, goddammit! How many?” In Ranjpoot, Akbar strode about with a troop. At the dock, he had two sturdy guards. What about crew? I could not hope to overcome them all, but I could hide aboard.…
The gate was locked, what of it? I’d go over the top.
At my urging, the brown mare sidled up alongside the dockyard wall. Pulling my feet from the stirrups, I held the pommel, crouched on the mare’s back, then launched myself upward. My palms caught the wall’s edge. Pain coursed through me, familiar and sharp, taking my breath—like knives cutting my palms. Ignore it, I told my hands, feeling about for a stronger hold. Swearing, I hauled myself up onto shards of broken glass embedded in the top of the wall.
* * *
Steamship Vahid Cruiser was still docked where I’d last seen it. Peering out of a nearby warehouse, I breathed in soft hope, thinking of Chutki, bound and gagged in its hold.
The ship bobbed slowly by a pile of mooring timbers, as water sloshed against the pier. Her weight had shifted to the stern since this evening, when I’d watched her loading. Ugly and squat, she sat low in the water, ready to sail with her cargo of stolen women and Chutki, the girl who called me brother.
A turbaned guard stood by the gangplank, which creaked with each swell of the unhappy bilge water. He lowered himself onto a crate and felt about his pockets for a plug of tobacco. Streetlamps glowed at either end of the pier, turning the drizzle into flecks of light that shimmered as they swirled. Ropes clumped beside the moorings in untidy coils. Pallets and broken timbers littered the pier like matchsticks thrown by careless gods.
Only one man barred my way aboard Vahid Cruiser.
The guard bit off some tobacco and chewed as I planned my approach through the debris and detritus. That sparked an idea. Why strike and drop him into the depths when I could simply steal his blue uniform and take his place?
I scanned the murky warehouse for some way to distract him. Finding sacks of grain, I hauled open the side door to the warehouse, hefted one over my shoulder and trudged out.